I am here
by Meowbowwow
Summary: John after Sherlock returns. Scared John. Scarred John. And loving Sherlock. A small fic on how they ease into being a couple and much more - on companionship.


_He was falling down, down, down, down, it was a winding staircase and even though he found himself on top of it, he could see himself at the bottom too. The fall never stopped, he kept going down, no gravity, nothing and Sherlock screamed in the background. Down, down, down, screams of help, screams, down. The staircase became the side of a rocky mountain, a ravine at the bottom with darkness that made his toes curl before he realised that he would crash against it, crash so hard that the sound of his bones would be devoured by the hungry blackness, lost in the his own head. And Sherlock screamed, screamed out of the sky, out of his lungs. The sky, he noticed, was red with his blood and his broken body on the pavement of Bart's hospital. Down, down, down. THUD!_

John was sweating and shaking from head to toe, curled into a ball and as cold as ice. He felt like he's run a hundred miles, like his lungs had defied death. But slowly, warmth was coming back to him. Sherlock's arms, his smell, bergamot and mint, tea and rains, everything was Sherlock. He was holding him in his arms, cradling his head gently and resting it against his chest, pulling him closer and pushing the duvet off him. His body felt warm and soft and John let the graceful fingers snake into his hair and rub patterns on his skin until he felt calm. His heart thudded as loudly as ever and he was sure that everyone in the street would be able to hear it. Still a little disoriented, he didn't dare open his eyes or even move for he feared that this would break too, this moment, like it had countless number of times in the past 3 years.

Sherlock kissed his forehead gently, murmuring something in his ears, words of reassurance perhaps as his hand started stroking John's naked back while the other cupped his cheek, his thumb moved over John's jaw, tracing a soft line underneath it as he breathed slowly down his forehead, planting soft wet kisses. John opened his eyes a fraction, he had to sooner or later, and saw Sherlock smiling at him. There was concern in those grey eyes right now, they still deduced everything on John's face, not leaving even a shadow untouched, washing everything clean of meaning, mapping every little movement and giving it a separate shelf in that acute mind.

He moved an inch, making himself comfortable against Sherlock's body and pushing Sherlock back against the bed so that he could rest his head comfortably against his chest. He heard Sherlock's heart beating in his ears and matched his breathing against it, trying to calm himself down. _It's okay, he's here. He's alive. _Slowly, the vestiges of the dream faded away and he looked up at the slightly drowsy form of Sherlock, his eyes looking at him lovingly, drooping ever so slightly.

"Go to sleep, John," he whispered, planting another kiss on his forehead and wrapping his arms around him. It had been a few weeks since Sherlock had come back and told John everything - his reasons about not including John in the plan - and John had accepted it, breaking down in his arms, begging him to never do this again, and believing that it was real.

But the nightmare never stopped. It kept coming back, every day the same, worse than the ones he had had after Afghanistan. Always the same, John falling down and Sherlock's screams. And blood. And down, down, down, the never ending fall. He always woke up with Sherlock's arms around him and his whispers in his ears, bringing John back, putting him to sleep again. He dreaded sleeping, he dreaded that he would wake up and Sherlock would be gone again, that it would have been all a dream. He didn't mind living it, he was broken beyond repair and he didn't want to wake up ever again if this was unreal, a figment of his imagination.

Sunshine was streaming into the room when John woke up, Sherlock was still asleep and their arms were still entwined in the same way as last night – Sherlock draped around him and breathing gently in his hair. John saw that there were marks on his back, where he had dug his fingers in his sleep, trying to hold on to Sherlock. He ran his thumb over them and Sherlock winced, opening his eyes gently and taking John's hand in his own.

"Morning," he smiled and pulled John closer. They sighed around like that for a while, breathing in each other's presence, it was a Sunday and none of them needed to get up and rush. After an hour or so, John got up to take a shower and Sherlock made faces in the pillow.

"You kissed me last night." It was more of a statement from John than a question.

"Yes, I did," Sherlock said, his voice muffled by the pillow.

"And you've been sleeping in my bed these past few weeks."

"Yes, I have."

"Why?"

"Just because I can." Sherlock looked up, a twinkle in his eyes that made John smile. It was true, they'd fallen into a relationship even before knowing about it. He didn't remember how long it had been like this. This was the first time the question had popped into his head and he had asked it. There had been no explanations, no questions were raised between the two, they had accepted it as something that had been long postponed, too _long._

_"_I need to go out, John, to the yard." Sherlock said, putting his phone inside his pocket as he made to get up. "Lestrade messaged; something about 10 fingers from 10 different people. Very easy because the murderer has tried too much, introducing too many elements, thereby debilitating himself. It's going to be fun though. Been so long."

Sherlock looked up to find John staring at him, his body had stiffened like it had every time Sherlock had tried to leave the flat on his own. John had always accompanied him, once leaving the clinic early to do so. He was scared, Sherlock could see that.

"I'll come too," John said, wiping his face with a soft towel.

"John, come here." Sherlock was sitting on the edge of the bed and looking at John, pain in his eyes. _I had never meant to damage him so. Never. I have done what Afghanistan couldn't do, I have broken him. _

John shrugged and walked up to Sherlock, he looked more tired than ever, his eyes searched Sherlock's hungrily, for answers, for affection. "I know you worry, John. Don't deny it, I know you too well, I don't even need to deduce. I know you worry but you have to forget it. Forget everything. I know it's difficult. I know it is too much to ask. At least try. For me?" Sherlock said, looking solemnly into John's blue eyes.

John sighed deeply and looked down, "I will. I'll try. I just..." he looked up again, trying to put words in that glance, succeeding because Sherlock kissed his forehead again, sighing in his hair.

"I am here and will always be," Sherlock nuzzled his neck with his nose.

"You went away, though," John said, trying not to sound accusing, holding tight and not letting go.

"But I came back, didn't I?" Sherlock put his forehead against John's, John looked up and nodded, a sad smile creeping on his lips.

Sherlock pulled him down and kissed the smile. It was a chaste one but it was their first. John smiled in his mouth, letting Sherlock explore every bit of it before drawing back.

"What was that for?" he said, smiling still.

"Just because I can," Sherlock said, pulling him for another one. When he had left John Watson sufficiently and thoroughly snogged on the bed, he took his face in his hands.

"I am here and will always be, John. Always."


End file.
